Mosaic
by Tikatu
Summary: A set of drabbles originally written for the Classic Thunderbirds Showcase drabble challenge. More will be added as the muse dictates. TV-verse.
1. In The Bin

_Author's notes:_ Scenelet from _Cry Wolf_. Scott, prompt #5, the garbage can. Inspired by fic simplicity's prompt #5, garbage. These drabbles counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice; this site's word count often disagrees.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

Scott pulled the banana peel from his head, and wiped the coffee grounds from over his ear. He shook his head sharply; something slimy oozed down his neck.

"I'm so sorry!" Williams hurried from the house, a towel over his shoulder. He offered a hand to extricate Scott from the garbage can. Tony and Bob came running up, trying to stifle their boyish giggles.

"I should've known something would go wrong with that 'emergency exit'," Williams lamented. "But," he turned his attention to his sons, "you wouldn't have ended up in the bin had two little boys dumped the rubbish!"


	2. Illusions

_Author's notes:_ Virgil, prompt #3, Thunderbird 2. These drabbles counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice; this site's word count often disagrees.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

Virgil woke suddenly, with an anguished cry, heart pounding. Shrugging into his robe, he flew, barefoot, to the monorail, tapping his hands impatiently on the controls. The car had barely stopped before he was out, descending into the gloom, his feet pounding down the metal stairs, echoing in the hangar.

"Lights!" he screamed. Bank after bank lit up; he slowed as he saw the truth.

She was there: whole, shining, balanced on spindly-looking supports. He heaved a relieved sigh, and went to her, rubbing her cold metal leg, reassuring himself of her well-being.

"That was one helluva nightmare."


	3. Celestial Majesty

_Author's notes:_ John, prompt #6, being on Earth. These drabbles counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice; this site's word count often disagrees.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

I am so damned glad we live where we do. Anywhere else and it'd take a massive power outage to see the night sky as it should be, filled with innumerable stars. Here I can go to the beach, or just lie on the roof and be greeted by my oldest, my best friends - besides my brothers.

As awesome as it is to fly among the stars, there's nothing so soul-stirring as watching them from home. Here, their mystery remains, and I can ignore what they are individually and delight in the cumulative majesty that's spread out above me.


	4. The Velvet Box

_Author's notes:_ Alan, prompt #6, Tin-Tin. Inspired by fic simplicity's prompt #17, boxes. These drabbles counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice; this site's word count often disagrees.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

Within his pocket, Alan's fingers smoothed over the box's velvet surface, tracing the lid's curve, feeling the near-hidden hinge. _Amazing,_ he thought, _that something so small can carry so much promise._

He clutched it within his fist, his sweaty palm threatening to crush the velvet's pile. The irony of the box became clear. Like her, the delicate outside was but a thin veneer covering a steel-hard shell and protecting the valuable – his love, which was hers forever.

Cautiously, with hope, he opened his heart as he opened the box, asking his question. "Please, will you marry me, Tin-Tin?"


	5. Power Outage

_Author's notes:_ Jeff, prompt #1, Lucille. Inspired by fic simplicity's prompt #15, power outage. These drabbles counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice; this site's word count often disagrees.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

Those days were so dark. It was like all the lights went out, like a massive power outage in my heart. I was swallowed up in darkness; couldn't see where to turn, which way to go. Lucille, my radiant soulmate, the one who energized me, was gone. I missed the way she brightened every corner of my day, galvanized me to keep going when life flickered around us. Without her, everything was plunged into a seemingly endless gloom. There was nothing to reenergize me... nothing but five little live wires who slowly restored the power and got me going again.


	6. Salt Or Not?

_Author's notes:_ Kyrano, prompt #4, cooking. Inspired by fic simplicity's prompt #21, salt. These drabbles counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice; this site's word count often disagrees.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

Kyrano sprinkled salt onto the peeled, boiled potatoes, added milk, butter, and black pepper, then began to whip them. The well-cooked chunks became mushy, then creamy beneath his ministrations. He tasted them, dipping a finger into the thick mash.

"Hmm." Frowning, he sampled his handiwork again. He spilled some salt from the shaker into his hand, tasting the crystals. Muttering a Malaysian curse, he put the bowl aside, pulling out more potatoes to peel. He glanced at the ruined dish; a sly smile crossed his face.

"I believe I will save a special portion of this for Mr. Gordon."


	7. Surrogate

_Author's notes:_ Grandma, prompt #6, mother love. Inspired by fic simplicity's prompt #22, diapers. Based on Marriott's contention that Lucille died giving birth to Alan. These drabbles counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice; this site's word count often disagrees.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

"You poor little thing."

Grandma rubbed medicated cream on the baby's bottom, soothing the rash that set him wailing. She diapered him snugly, then picked him up, holding him to her shoulder, rubbing his back and rocking as she did. The baby's head drooped; his thumb found its way into his mouth. Blond fluff moved under her breath as she put him to bed.

"You poor little thing," she whispered again, smoothing a hand over his head. "To never know your mama. I guess I'll have to be mama to you... at least until your daddy's up to the job."


	8. Spit And Polish

_Author's notes:_ Parker, prompt #2, FAB-1. These drabbles counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice; this site's word count often disagrees.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

Parker kept an eye on the sky as he rubbed the chamois across FAB-1's bonnet. He whistled as he worked, buffing his employer's prized possession to a high gloss.

He stopped whistling long enough to mutter, "Never thought HI'd come t' like the color." He rubbed some more, standing on tiptoes to reach as far as possible. He glanced up as a flight of ducks winged overhead. A large drop splattered on his handiwork; he shook a fist at the retreating flock. "Bloody birds!" Turning back to the Rolls, he wiped up the mess, cooing, "Did they muck yer, milady?"


	9. Star Lady

_Author's notes:_ A Thunderbird's POV - in this case, Thunderbird 3, prompt #1, pilot. These drabbles counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice; this site's word count often disagrees.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

I have two pilots.

Blond, blue-eyed – in looks, alike as peas in a pod.

Yet at my helm, they are different as night and day.

The elder is cautious, precise, a stranger. He does not know me. He is faithful to Five, the patient stargazer.

But the younger _knows_ me... every sound, every shiver. His hands gently caress my controls. He needs no instruments to tell when something is wrong. He feels me in his bones; his spirit soars with me as I lift off. No terrestrial passion could compare.

He is my lover, and calls me his lady.


	10. Rescue Prep

_Author's notes:_ A scenelet from _The Imposters_. International Rescue, prompt #4, Jeremiah Tuttle. These drabbles counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice; this site's word count often disagrees.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

"Maw? That there Lady Penny-lope... she's gonna find the goin' a mite rough for them fancy clothes o' hers." Jeremiah pulled off his hat, scratching his scalp. "I'm a'thinkin' we'd best follow her an' that Parker fella. They might could be gettin' into a heap o' trouble."

Maw sighed. "I 'spect you're right, Jeremiah. You most always are." She got up from her rocking chair, groaning. "I'll fetch us some beans. We might could need 'em."

"Good idea, Maw. I'll get my shotgun." Jeremiah followed her inside. "If'n I'm right 'bout who's out there, we're shore gonna need it."


	11. Green

_Author's notes:_ Virgil, prompt #2, being the muscle. Inspired by fic simplicity's prompt #23, Green. These drabbles counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice; this site's word count often disagrees.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxxx

Green?

Hell, yes, I was green when we brought down Fireflash. We'd practiced various scenarios training for this moment, but nothing could prepare me for the real thing. For the real, heart-pounding fear watching this potentially deadly aircraft looming huge in your rear-view mirror. For the real, sickening panic when an elevator car fouled, careening off the runway, necessitating another try. For the real, stomach-roiling nausea from rolling over and over as the lead car could take no more and went out of control.

Inexperienced, nauseous, you name it. Yeah, I was green... once upon a time.


	12. Adoration in Art

_Author's notes:_ Alan's reaction to Virgil's painting in "Move and You're Dead". A response to the "Hugs, love, and kisses" challenge by KremlinDusk at lunaescence dot com. These drabbles counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice; this site's word count often disagrees.

For those who are wondering how I got this chapter up, see the pinned thread on the subject at Classic Thunderbirds Forum.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

I didn't like it.

I mean, Virgil's passion for painting has led him down some strange paths. He's constantly trying to emulate one painter or another. He went crazy over Monet, then Gaugin, and later, Grant Wood. All styles of art a guy can get into because they actually _look_ like something. But I had no idea what artist he was fond of when he painted that surrealist picture of me with my trophy!

Still, I couldn't say much when Grandma saw it, looked it over with a critical eye, declared, "I love it!" and gave _Virgil_ an affectionate kiss.


	13. Weaknesses

_Author's notes:_ Virgil, prompt #4, being the muscle. Written for the challenge from thehoodedmenace at FanLib: Write a story where an essential part of the plot involves a spork. Mega Kudos if the story is serious. This drabble counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxxx

Virgil opened the packet, sighing. The internal warmer had heated the ready-cooked food to eating temperature, but the meal's aroma was overpowered by the fire's acrid stench.

He found himself staring blankly at the only implement provided: a plastic spork. It occurred to him that this was how he felt: not strong or sharp enough to efficiently grab, not whole enough to catch and carry. The lives lost because he insisted he was fine when he really wasn't haunted him, and would for a long while.

He dug the spork into the meal, then stopped. _I'm not hungry anymore._


	14. Stalker

_Author's notes:_ Inspired by ArtisticRainey's entry in the "Challenge in a can" prompt at _International Rescue: The Next Phase_ forum. Prompt words: _moccasin, heartbeat and erstwhile._

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

He padded along, leather moccasins masking his footsteps in the jungle foliage. Things were quiet, making the hunt more difficult. He could feel his heartbeat, hear his pulse in his ears. His prey was ahead of him, undisturbed, complacent in his hiding spot.

Suddenly, like a bolt from above, the erstwhile stalker pounced. His prey let out a cry, but could not get away.

"Aww, geeze, Scott! You could give a man a heart attack sneaking up on them like that!"

Scott smirked. "You'll wish you'd had one when Dad gets finished with you for coloring the pool water orange."


	15. Only So Much

_Author's notes:_ Inspired by fic simplicity's prompt #30, boredom. These drabbles counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice; this site's word count often disagrees.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

Gordon has his swimming.

Virgil has his paints and piano.

John has his writing and telescope.

Alan has... Tin-Tin.

But what do I have when boredom strikes?

Not much.

There's only so much maintenance Thunderbird One needs. Only so much training we can take. Only so many miles I can run. Only so much apple pie I can eat. Only so much chess or snooker I can play.

When those are exhausted, I itch for action. I find myself watching the news, waiting for some disaster where we'll be needed.

What's that? The emergency signal! Thank God! Something to _do_!


	16. Contrasts

_Author's notes:_ Inspired by allunwritten's prompt #168. The prompt is the first phrase of the drabble. Word count of 100 words according to Open Office; this site's word count often disagrees.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Granada does. For archiving permission, including C2s, please ask first.

xxxx

He'd never seen the ocean, not like Gordon did, full of life and color, of mystery and terror. But when he really thought about it, their loves were much the same. Gordon's fish were like his beloved stars, numerous beyond count, varied in color and size and beautiful in their everlasting dance. The water was like space; dark, mysterious, without discernible boundaries when looking at it from within. A man could float, or die in it if not properly prepared and protected.

No, John had never really seen the ocean, but when he looked now, it was far more familiar.


	17. Hope

_Author's notes:_ Inspired by Flashforward's "Challenge in a can" prompt on FanLib's Your Fan Creations forum. Prompt words: _devastation, challenge, hope._ Now revised. I counted "F-A-B" as one word.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

Scott whistled. Thunderbird One's shadow left a dark patch on the brown floodwaters beneath her. An occasional rooftop poked up, as did a muddied tree.

"The devastation's pretty widespread," he said. "This will be a challenge. I hope we find people alive down there."

"You will." Jeff replied, his voice filtered through the cockpit speakers. "There's always hope, Scott. That's why we never give up. Just keep looking."

"F-A-B." Scott sat straighter, his spirit buoyed. He renewed his search, using binoculars to scan the scene below.

A waving blanket caught his eye. "Yes!" he cried. "Thunderbird Two, we have survivors!"


	18. Lemon Pledge

Inspired by real life and Lemon Zinger. Didn't create them; don't own them.

* * *

She sniffed the brew, raising a brow at the scent. _Smells like furniture polish._

She sipped it, making a face. _Tastes like it, too_.

Tin-Tin had challenged her to try some herbal teas. No caffeine. she'd said. Help you sleep, she'd said. So, Grandma had taken her advice, purchasing a sampler box.

Peppermint was lovely; the beddy-bye blend tasted surprisingly good. The berry tea turned a deep, cranberry red, its flavor as pleasing as its color. But this lemon stuff? Just... no.

She took the cup to the kitchen sink, dumping its contents. "A nice cup of cocoa, I think..."


	19. The Search

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #605, Dear Mom, from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice; this site's word count sometimes disagrees.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

"Dear Mom,

It's so pretty up here. I can see the stars so clearly. I found the quasar lurking out there and named it for our family. For you. For Dad. For Scott and Virgil. For the kids. For Grandma and Grandpa. In Thunderbird Five I can see farther than anyone.

But even though I can search the heavens, I still can't find you.

Why is that?"

John sighed, and stopped typing. He looked at the pill bottle next to him, shook his head, then pushed them aside.

"I guess I'll just have to keep looking," he whispered.


	20. The Risks

_Author's notes:_ Jeff ponders the aftermath of Thunderbird Two's crash from _Terror in New York City. _Prompt #706, prompt: "I knew the risks", from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

I knew the risks.

Of death, of catastrophic injury. Of hospital visits, months in rehabilitation, without hope, without recovery. Of standing at a bedside trying to pull the plug, letting a son die with dignity.

I knew the risks... or I thought I did.

Now a smoking hulk lies at my doorstep, foam-covered, too damaged to fly. Its pilot--my son--lies concussed, unconscious, lungs full of smoke. I'm lucky he's alive. Luckier still he made it home. Losing a son in the sea, no chance for goodbyes...

I knew the risks. I know now how little I understood them.


	21. Wedding Guilt

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #754, prompt "It's my wedding day...", from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice; this site's word count sometimes disagrees.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

It's my wedding day, and as I wait for the march to begin, I pray. International Rescue is closed down for the occasion. Thunderbird Five is empty; Thunderbird One rests in her hangar. The entire family is here, putting aside their responsibilities for their brother... and me. Even so, they still think, as I do: what if? What if some disaster strikes, and we're not there? How guilty they, and I, would feel if that happened. So I pray.

The march sounds out. The crowd rises, all eyes turning. I smile, squeezing my father's arm. There's no going back now.


	22. Understandings

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #827, prompt, "unlikely friendship" from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

Unlikely friends? Hell, yes. Here I was, gung-ho astronaut candidate, out to make history, and I befriend this gentle, thoughtful Malaysian who loved orchids and haute cuisine as much as I loved spaceflight. Who could've predicted we'd be friends? Or that he'd come to work for me, being my occasional conscience, pointing out directions I'd have never seen without his quiet prodding.

I'll never understand how I saved him and Tin-Tin, and I marvel that he's chosen to serve in my household. Maybe that's what makes our friendship so unlikely—we'll never fully understand each other... and we don't need to.


	23. Autumn vision

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #935, a photo prompt, from the live journal community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

The Firefly rumbled along toward the wildfire. The narrow, winding road required Virgil's attention, but he glanced up often to gauge the smoke's thickness. Then they rounded the bend and his breath caught.

Reds, oranges, yellows, greens, so vibrant, so perfect that his fingers twitched, wishing for paints and brushes. The smoke, a swirling haze, obscured the background, leaving only the dark trees and their colors.

A moment's vision and The Firefly rumbled past. Virgil sighed. Would they lose this autumn beauty?

No. Not today.

His resolve strengthened, he tucked the view away, hoping he could later do it justice.


	24. The Distance Between

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #862, "the distance between us", from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words by OpenOffice.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

xxxx

My home, as was yours, is in Malaysia. Deep in the jungles, away from prying eyes. A mysterious place, long considered cursed.

Your home now, a tropical island. A lush, unremarked spot in the vast Pacific. Perfectly cloaking secrets, and those who would remain incognito.

Yet, a few steps, and I close the distance between us. I call, and you answer, revealing your thoughts, the buried depths of your memories, turning you from faithful to traitorous in a heartbeat, leaving no trace of my incursion.

Though leagues separate us, it is an illusion. We are ever together, you and I.


	25. Three little words

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #1425, danger zone, from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble hand counted as 100 words.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them.

xxxx

The Danger Zone.

That's what we call it. A nice generic name for whatever we're going to face, a phrase whose meaning has long been leached away. It tucks the situation into a neat, sanitary package, hiding the mud, the blood, the flames, and frozen darkness. In those three words we fold the dead, the dying, the devastated, and the few, lucky, unscathed survivors. All we experience, the joys, despair, the screams seared into our memories are smoothly covered as we relive them in debriefing. Every failure and triumph alike are wrapped up in three little words... the Danger Zone.


	26. Journal's End

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #1453, Write the last entry in a journal, from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words. Thanks to ArtisticRainey for beta and feedback.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

_The pain is getting worse but I can't stop now. The boys are still out there, still searching for their brother. I can't leave the desk, not yet, not while there's still hope. Tomorrow they'll be back, safe and sound. I'll go see the doctor then._

_Popped some more aspirin. God, where are they? Why haven't I heard? All I can do is wait. Pace. Drink coffee. Write in this damned journal. God knows I'll have to delete this entry when ..._

The journal stopped there, the final entry burning in stark black on white, marking the day International Rescue died.


	27. Backfire!

_Author's notes:_ Inspired by Xenitha's review, a sequel to chapter 6, "Salt Or Not?". This drabble counted up as 100 words.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

Joking and laughing, Gordon didn't pay attention when Scott passed him the potatoes. He automatically dished some out, handing the bowl to Virgil – who promptly passed it to Kyrano without taking any.

On his first bite, he knew he'd succeeded. With a grin, he glanced around, crowing internally over his prank.

"How are the potatoes, Dad?"

"Perfect!" Jeff flashed him a thumbs up.

When the other family members also enthusiastically praised the spuds, Gordon realized the joke was on him but he could say nothing. He picked up his fork with a sigh.

Watching from the kitchen, Kyrano smiled, satisfied.


	28. Compulsions

_Author's notes:_ A missing scenelet from "Martian Invasion". Prompt #1457, "trembling hands", from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words. Thanks to Susanmartha for feedback.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

His daughter finished her work and moved back across the catwalk. He lingered. Something … there was something he must do. But what?

He scanned the cockpit, his eyes focusing on a single switch. Buried commands pressed hard, demanding he reach for it. He stretched, old bones creaking, but he could not touch it.

Outside, his daughter called, "Father? Are you coming?"

"One moment, Tin-Tin."

He climbed laboriously from his perch. A scrap of conscience flickered, silently shouting, This is wrong! Traitorous hands trembling, he turned off the camera detector.

The compulsion lifted. He blinked and relaxed, his betrayal instantly forgotten.


	29. What's in a name?

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #802, "My name is ...", from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words. Thanks to Lillehafrue for feedback.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

"State your name and business."

The security guard is curt and suspicious. I pull myself to my full height. "My name is ..."

And I pause.

What _is_ my name?

I don't rightfully know.

I have many aliases, Hiram Hackenbacker and Homer Newton III among them. Each as nerdish a name as anyone could devise. My birth name is lost forever. My adopted name has never felt like my own.

The only name that truly fits is what the Tracys call me: Brains.

However, that won't work now. I pull out my identification and show it.

"Hiram Hackenbacker, special projects director."


	30. My Two Worlds

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #1197, "waves licking the boat", from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words, counting hyphenated words as two. Thanks to Susanmartha for feedback.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

Today, I'm just kicking back, savoring a salt-laden breeze, warm sun on my face and chest, and the gentle sound of waves licking the boat. Gordon Tracy, lazy billionaire's son.

I love that.

Yesterday it was a rain-lashed gale, stomach-roiling swells, a rudderless yacht, and seven needy, greedy people who constantly whined about their "accommodation" aboard Thunderbird Four. Except the little girl. She thanked me with a sweet kiss.

Rescuing people in the fiercest seas? I'm totally there. Gordon Tracy, International Rescue aquanaut and adrenaline junkie.

I love that, too.

Well ... I could've done without the whiners.


	31. Shattered

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #374, "It only took a second to change everything", from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words. Thanks to Lillehafrue for feedback.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

It only took a second to change everything. One heartbeat, one tick of the clock and my dreams lay in ashes, my future uncertain, everything I wanted in life just ... gone.

Oh, new dreams arose, perhaps better than before. I built my own future. People say I'm the man who has it all.

It's a lie.

Nothing I've done can substitute for what I lost. I'd trade everything I have, I am, and will become for just one more second with her. Just one more heartbeat. One more tick of the clock.

Everything I ever wanted in life was Lucille.


	32. A Perilous Wait

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #336, waiting for him, from the lj community, all_unwritten. A scene from "The Man from MI.5". This drabble counted up as 100 words.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

The floor beneath my cheek is cold and gritty. My shoulder aches from my fall. The rope chafes my wrists, and my disarranged hair tickles my nose. Behind me, the bomb's radio control blinks steadily, reflected in my compact.

I am waiting for him, for Scott, for rescue. Duty demands he find my captors before he can free me from my peril. Nevertheless, I listen hard, anxious for the sound of Thunderbird One's jets.

Jeff waits with me in voice and spirit, comforting me. He knows as I do that – for good or ill – my waiting will soon be over.


	33. Unexpected Proposal

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #1408, "Will you marry me?", from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

"Will you marry me?"

I gasp. The unexpected question has taken me by surprise.

I've never heard him use such a tender tone before. His smile is shy, hesitant. It fades a little when I don't blurt out an instant, enthusiastic, "Yes!" Suddenly, I see him in a new light that shakes everything I know about him to the core.

I ask myself, Do I love him? My heart replies, Of course you do! You have been through so much together.

My decision made, I throw my arms around him and kiss him soundly.

"Yes, of course I'll marry you … Brains!"


	34. Before the Fall

_Author's notes:_ A scene from "Terror in New York City". Prompt #44, a moment of silence, from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

There was a moment of silence, heavy and expectant. The engines cut off; the subsidence ceased. On its now unstable track, the building paused as if deciding what to do. We held our breath, hoping we'd be spared.

It fell in seeming slow motion, coming ever closer, obscuring the light. Windows glinted above us seconds before that majestic landmark became a pile of concrete and twisted metal. We were deafened by the boom. The shockwave drove us down, senseless, into a cold and watery hell.

The Empire State Building was no more. Without help from someone, somewhere, so were we.


	35. Mayday

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #37, critical malfunction, from live_journal's fic_simplicity community. This drabble counted up as 100 words. Thanks to Lillehafrue for feedback and title suggestions

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, including C2 communities, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

Critical malfunction.

The words run through my head as I don my space suit. I've no idea what system failed, but it pays to be prepared. Diagnostic telemetry streams down to Brains, hoping to find a solution.

Father returns to the commlink. "Son, we're preparing Three right now. A few minutes more to find the problem, then they're on their way."

I slide my helmet on, locking it into place. "Can you hear me, Dad?"

"Strength five, son."

"Dad, if I don't get out of this–"

"Don't think that way. Don't ever give up."

I smile before everything goes dark.


	36. Last Rites

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #720, a photo of a church door opening as seen from the inside, from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words. Thanks to Tea-Cub for a Brit-pick beta.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

The church door creaked as Parker opened it. Penelope stepped inside cautiously. She had not been in church for years, but today she had a solemn errand.

The black-garbed priest met her, smiling kindly, hand outstretched. "Lady Penelope?" Penny nodded. "I'm pleased to meet you. I wish these were happier circumstances."

Penny shook the proffered hand."Thank you, Reverend." She gazed slowly around the nave. "Her Grace, the Duchess of Royston left strict instructions for her funeral. Where may we discuss the matter?"

The priest gestured into the sanctuary. "My office. Please follow me."

Penny turned. "Come along, Parker."


	37. Close Encounter

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #784, the look on his face, from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words. Based on a scene from "The Perils of Penelope" which is partly the reason why I ship these two. Thanks to Lillehafrue for feedback.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

The monorail thunders overhead. Lights reflecting off the tunnel walls enable tantalizing glimpses of my rescuer. His hand is warm on my cheek. The look on his face is serious yet something smoulders in his gaze. I stare, unable to turn away.

It's impossible to hear above the monorail's rumble. My hand cups her smooth cheek; I'm tempted to stroke it. Blue eyes bore into mine, pink lips part to speak. Her beauty takes my breath away. I want her, but could she ever possibly want me?

The train passes. Neither speak. Virgil withdraws his hand, and cuts Penelope loose.


	38. Addictions

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #1486, from the lj community, all_unwritten: "Coffee and smoking are the last great addictions." attributed to Lara Flynn Boyle. This drabble counted up as 100 words.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

Coffee. Smoking. Yeah, I'm addicted.

Coffee keeps me going. When the rescue gets long and I need to stay awake, I drink it. When it's cold, I drink it hot. When it's hot, I drink it iced. It fuels my brain as much as it does my body.

Cigars, cigarettes ... those are for the times when I can relax and savor them. They cost like hell, are hard to find as hen's teeth, but hey, what use are billions if you can't get the little luxuries in life.

Sweet, sweet addictions. What would life in International Rescue be without them?


	39. Voice on the Radio

_Author's notes:_ Prompt #985, touchable voice, from the lj community, all_unwritten. This drabble counted up as 100 words. Thanks to Lillehafrue for feedback.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them; ITC/Grenada does at the moment. I'm just writing about them. If you want to post these anywhere else, please be polite and ask first.

* * *

_"You have such a touchable voice. Like a velvety caress."_

She coughs, hacking. I've listened to far too many like her. I can tell when the end is near.

"Breathe easy, Janae. They're almost there. Just a few more minutes."

I don't want her to lose hope. The boys are close; they could reach her any second.

_"I hear them."_

Janae told me about herself, her dreams. I feel I know her.

"Just hang on. Please."

Something scrapes in the transmission. I hear Gordon's voice.

"Hey there, beautiful. Somebody call a cab?"

There's a low chuckle and I sigh, relieved.


End file.
